Nighttime
by Gemenied
Summary: Boyd and Grace take a walk.


**Title**: Nighttime

**Rating**: K

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, but I wish I did.

**Summary**: Boyd and Grace take a walk.

**A/N**: This story stems from a discussion between Joodiff and I about how in character a 'happy, content' Boyd would be. Walking home at night a few days later, somehow this story came to me and I wrote it down in a few minutes. Hope, you enjoy. Many, many thanks go to ShadowSamurai83 - as always - for the beta and eternal support - I'm now going to hunt for your muse!

**Warning**: Happy Boyd.

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><p><strong>Nighttime<strong>

The streets are very dark and under different circumstances, Boyd would be less than happy with the idea of walking around town in the wee hours of the night. But they'd just looked at each other, once the end credits of the film rolled down, and when she said, "Fancy a walk?" he didn't think of refusing.

He doesn't regret it.

They are walking down the street, away from his house. Grace has her arm slipped through the crook of his, her head is leaning comfortably against his shoulder - well, more against his upper arm, she isn't that tall, especially with flat shoes - and his hand covers hers. It's a very domestic picture, but he doesn't mind much.

It's very dark and the streets are very empty. The city actually feels asleep. There's very little noise, barely a car in the distance, no blues and twos, no undergrounds, no voices. He doesn't even hear her breathing, or himself, that's how quiet it is.

Normally, they would have to fill the silence with words - about work, about the film they've watched, anything - but for once she is as silent as he is. It's not tense, though, just that neither needs to fill anything. He can feel all he needs to know through his skin, the physical contact, and he knows it's the same for her.

It's a good feeling, soothing.

They walk in slow steps, not a frustrating crawl, but they aren't in a hurry. It's gone midnight, but the next morning will demand nothing from them, except getting up at some point to fulfil some basic physical demands. Beyond that they can spend all day in bed, doing whatever they want, even if it is nothing.

He likes that certainty, entertains the thought to actually follow up on it.

"What are you thinking?" she asks.

For a moment he contemplates the answer, before he calmly replies, "Nothing." It's a testament to the situation that she doesn't press him for details, doesn't feel the need to dig deeper. Instead she sighs quietly, comfortably, and snuggles deeper against his arm.

He smiles. This small act fulfils a lot of his emotional needs. It shows that she trusts him, enjoys him, feels protected by him. That's all he wants, to be with her, hold her, cherish her, protect her. He's never said it so explicitly, hopes that she never demands that he does. He wouldn't know the words, really. He can feel them, he can show them, but speaking them is hard work and he isn't a man of many words.

But she knows and she understands and that's the beauty of it. That he readily put on his shoes, donned his coat and just went with her is enough of a declaration on his part and she understood the deeper meaning anyway.

They've reached a corner and across the road is a park, but they turn left instead, where the street is still well-lit, where there's a chance of cars passing by every now and then. It's not cowardice or anything, he would certainly take on any bastard who dared to threaten them, but in their line of work, they've both seen enough not to take the risk tonight. It's a relatively safe neighbourhood, but they aren't that naive.

With this thought in mind, he gently squeezes her hand, both to reassure her and himself as well. She gives him a brief look of understanding and fondness, smiles and then turns her face back into the wind.

The night air is very mild and very dry, though the pavement is still wet from the showers earlier. In fact, it feels warmer now than it did a few hours ago when he came home.

Spring is in the air, actually pre-spring, but the technicality matters little. The worst of winter is over, he can feel it, and gladly thinks that they can soon banish their heavy coats to the back of their respective wardrobe. He looks forward to the change in her apparel. There's that light grey suit jacket, which for some reason he just loves seeing on her. It brings out the stunning colour of her eyes, gives her fair skin a healthier colour. It's not something he would admit noticing and contemplating to anybody, but he does. And he likes it. He likes her, a whole damn much at that.

Ahead of them, still about a hundred yards away, they can hear some bloke talking loudly. In the still of the night the man's voice carries and instinctively, Boyd pulls Grace closer to him. When they pass, it's just some bloke talking into his phone while waiting outside a front door to be let in. It seems to be a bit difficult, as it appears the tenant of the house the bloke wants to get in is on the phone and they have some sort of relationship crisis.

They pass him quickly, wordlessly, but both feel the relief that such a crisis is not their problem. In fact, no crisis of any person is their problem. Not tonight, not tomorrow, quite possibly not on Monday either.

They are good the way they are, and they are both finally at a point where they can not only intellectually accept that, but also emotionally and instinctively let go. It was, is, a major liberation not to have the weight of the world on their shoulders anymore.

He can see it in the way that the deep shadows under her eyes, in previous days barely concealed by make-up, and the worry lines have disappeared. Strangely enough she looks younger now than she did a few years ago. Of course, he is a little biased when it comes to her, but she becomes more gorgeous every day, and he knows that it is due to their liberation - both formally and personally. He can also feel it in the way he himself moves now. Age is still a bitch and there are moments when he feels 20 years older than he is. There are also certain activities that need more planning and a few concessions to lack of agility and stamina, but he feels lighter, notices how this transfers to the way he moves.

It's good. They are good. It's as simple as that.

The sky is overcast, not a star to be seen, but that is what makes for the mild air, so he isn't complaining.

Once again, she snuggles deeper against him, so he turns his head lightly and presses a kiss to her hair. "Cold?" he asks.

"Not really," she replies, a smile in her voice, and that's that.

He doesn't need to question her words or their implications anymore. He deciphers them from her tone, her posture and her facial expression. They've become wordless in a way, a good way. They still have words, endless conversations and discussions, but they don't need them anymore. Talking is something of a pleasure now, a happy pastime, not a requisite of communication.

And that's very good too.

There are more people in their way, and it takes a few moments until he can distinguish what they have with them. Not a dog, Boyd realizes, for that would have been a gigantic specimen he might have had to protect Grace from. She isn't afraid of dogs, so it would be more for his peace of mind than anything else. He thinks she indulges him on that part at times, just to keep him happy. It must be, because he knows that she can take care of herself, as chaotic and eccentric as she is at times.

They step around the two people, a man and a woman. The woman holds onto her bicycle, the man's lying a few feet away. The woman accuses her companion of spending too much time and indulging too much at the local pubs, though it is screamingly obvious that she isn't sober either. Not the kind of discussion you want to lead on a deserted street in the middle of the night when you aren't completely in control of your body, but maybe that's par the course when you are drunk.

Two more men slip out of the darkness, dressed in black and hardly visible in the shadows of the night. They ignore the couple walking by, but that's the point where Boyd thinks it's time to return home. They haven't walked for an exceedingly long time, but that's no problem. Just some fresh air and a few steps before bed.

Silently and without too much pressure, he pulls Grace along with him around a corner into the street that will, after another corner, lead them directly back towards his house. Grace doesn't resist, doesn't do or say anything. She just remains in step with him, her hand firmly attached to his arm.

After a few minutes they reach the front door, still silent. Inside the house where it is quiet and warm, they shed their coats and shoes. Grace taps upstairs to go through her considerably longer evening ritual, while he locks up the house and gets them both some water. It's ritualised behaviour, and something few people would consider Boyd capable of, but it's part of their life and he doesn't want to change a thing about it.

It doesn't take long before they find themselves under the covers, him on his side - closer to the door - her closer to the window. It's something they had to come to an arrangement about in the beginning. Though he saw the strategic advantage of being closer to the door, he - just like her - was simply used to sleeping on the window side. It took a while to hammer something out, but that's part and parcel of negotiating the terms of an actual relationship, and with Grace and for her, Boyd sees no problem in doing so. They are on equal footing in this, too many years spent as colleagues and friends not to allow each other an own mind and an own opinion.

As it is late, books and other reading materials are ignored and the lights turned off. They snuggle further into the mattress, pull the covers higher - all domestic, all mundane and very comfortable. Sex isn't on the menu tonight, doesn't need to be. Boyd just pulls her closer, spooning behind her, and Grace pulls his arm over her side and onto her stomach.

She likes this position more than many others and he is far from denying her.

It's good, it's peaceful, and though this evening and night might be far from exciting and charged with romantic and sexual electricity, it's quite possibly one of the most content evenings Boyd has ever experienced.

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><p>Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.<p> 


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